


Captain Jack and the fall

by AuroraDefae



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), wholock - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraDefae/pseuds/AuroraDefae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Jack meets Sherlock on the day of the fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captain Jack and the fall

Captain Jack enjoyed the feeling of emerging from the time vortex, almost as if he had a control over his life despite its chaos. In a random spout of another of his mid-life crises (the thirtieth one, to be exact), he had randomly pushed buttons to arrive here, on a dingy street in a dark city.

 

A drunk walked by him, singing under his breath in a shaky London accent. Jack had barely moved in location, but now to figure out when he was. His reckless grin came to his face as he strolled down the street with his hands in his pockets, feeling his long coat flapping out behind him. The look transformed to confusion as he saw the electric lights burning through the darkness. His vortex manipulator showed that he had moved, but he looked around again. It was definitely 2013, in London.

 

He was departed from his wandering by two men whisking past him.

 

"Take my hand, John."

 

The two were handcuffed together, a taller man with jet black hair and a shorter one with close cut blond hair.

 

Adrenaline raced through Jack as he set off in pursuit of the two fleeing figures; escaping from the police, if he had a guess.

 

He made certain to stay out of sight as they left a trail around London, eventually ducking into an alleyway. Jack slid across the rough brick of the wall leading to the alleyway, slowly creeping his way around it while fingering his gun, trying to keep his breaths shallow. If this London was his London, then this alleyway was blocked by a huge fence that the shorter fellow wouldn't be able to breach. They were arguing, and Jack moved faster, seeing his chance.

 

"Sherlock-"

 

Jack froze. It couldn't be-

 

He was in a parallel universe. This had to be the Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. He pried his finger off of the gun, creeping away just as the two figures ran out of the alleyway again.

 

Seeing no other action to replace this pursuit, he followed the odd pair as they ran down the street, eventually coming to another wall to stop. The taller one, Sherlock, was telling something to John in between brief, heaving breaths. John's voice rang across the street, to where Jack was hiding.

 

"What?"

 

Abruptly Sherlock pulled John until they were right in the way of a bus, and Jack started to desperately push buttons on his vortex manipulator, trying to bend space to alter the bus's course. That was when someone ran to the pair and pushed them away. A shot rang out, and the person stumbled and fell down in a heap.

 

Sherlock and John stood in shock before the the detective started to run again, pulling John until he turned away from the body to catch up. Jack looked at the body for a moment longer, and gave a salute before following the lives he was now entangled in.

\------------------------------

Shouts and curtain silhouettes splashed out from the house they had run into. He thought of going in, but as the Doctor would put it, that would cause to much 'wibbliness.' Instead, he crouched outside the house, listening to the voices drifting out.

 

"You're Moriarty!! You tried to kill me, remember?"

 

Jack tried to recall what Sir Conan Doyle had told him about his characters. He had based his Moriarty off several people, including mathematical prodigies and those that monopolized crime in this very city.

 

But which installment was he in? With a jolt, the pieces fell together.

 

He was in "The Final Problem."

 

He knew the plot, there was no spot for interference. He would have to stand by and watch Sherlock fake his death.

 

The door to the small house opened, spilling light and tension-filled silence as Sherlock and John walked out.  

 

Jack felt like a ghost as he followed them. Or a silent banshee, waiting for the watched to die. He wondered why his wrist time manipulator had brought him here; the plot was one of Doyle's best, leaving no gaps or mysteries. He just heaved a long, quiet sigh, speeding up his pace as the two men walked into the distance, an evident space between them.

 

This was certainly off plot- the two had ended as friends in "The Final Problem," not as people who refused to talk to each other. Maybe that was where he was supposed to interfere. But when? But more importantly, how?

 

After the darkness outside, the hospital lights were bright as the door quietly swooshed shut behind him. The all-important lab. At least this Sherlock seemed to follow the formula; when in doubt, resort to science.

 

\-------------------

Jack’s legs were starting to cramp as he knelt in the tiny room adjacent to the laboratory, watching as shadows disappeared from the room he was in. He would have to move soon if he was to remain unseen. He was about to shift when he heard John’s voice and froze.

 

“Y..You machine!”

 

Abruptly, doors flew open and angry, quick footsteps sounded as they traced a path right in front of Jack’s hiding spot. John.

In the book, a fake woman needed medical help, so what happens in this universe? Does Moriarty die?

 

He stood up and stretched, feeling the effect of running with no sleep or food wearing him down slightly. The hospital was abuzz now, and nurses and Doctors walked by in a rush, sporting coffee and stethoscopes. He winked at a few of them, attracting shy or withering looks. Trying to act nonchalant, he leaned against the wall and started whistling. The doors to the lab opened, and Sherlock snuck out, trying to look inconspicuous as he walked down the hallway to a door marked STAIRS.

 

The fall.

 

He felt his heart thump painfully in his chest. How would Sherlock be able to fake this? He decided to snoop around the lab, trying to figure out the method of the famous detective. The door squeaked open as he pushed his way into the artificially lit interior. A short girl dressed in a lab coat and a few layers of plaid and prints looked up in shock at him. They froze for a few seconds before Jack cleared his throat.

 

"Captain Jack Harkness. And you are...?"

 

She just shot him a look. "Unless you are here to h-" she cut herself off abruptly, going back to the vials and beakers she was sorting and cleaning.

 

"I'm not with him if that is what you are implying."

 

"Are you lying? Why are you here?" Her voice rose and trembled a little as she stared at him, the glassware forgotten.

 

His voice lower and softer, Jack replied, "I'm here to save Sherlock. How can I help?" He smiled reassuringly at her.

 

"Oh. Ah. Umm, can you make these," she gestured at the glassware, "look like they aren't used? I need to go out and find people to help after he..after he..."

 

She tried to force a smile before running out with her head down. Now alone in the very silent lab, Jack picked up the vials and beakers and began sniffing.

 

Chloroform. Curious.

 

So Sherlock is going to be knocked out soon. How will that help?

 

He heard voices coming in his direction, and hastily turned on the sink's water and began cleaning the glasses. One slipped just as the girl came back in, followed by other nurses and doctors, all sporting the same expression: sorrow.  The glass shattered on the floor, and they all jumped slightly. He just kicked it under the table.

"Leave."

 

He crossed his arms. "How about no?"

 

"I don't know you, therefore I can not trust you with information." The girl mimicked his position, trying to stand taller with her chin up.

 

"Well, I know Sherlock will faint in about twenty minutes, under the effect of chloroform, and I assume that will be after he jumps off of this building. Now, the chloroform," he indicated the beakers that had not been broken, "does not mimic death exactly, so something has to stop his pulse temporarily."

 

Everyone was silent for a moment, and he checked his watch. Ten minutes. "What's the plan, Ms.-"

 

"Um. Hooper. But I need your help to wake him back up. When we bring him in after the, um, illusion."

 

Jack recalled the resurrection glove, shivering slightly in the memory. "I can do that."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside, everything was muted, but loud cries were still heard as doors opened to the outside.

"SHERLOCK!"

Moments later, he was brought in, his face streaked with fake blood, his skin a pallid white. Jack picked up the smelling salts and walked to the stretcher, kneeling down and waving them back and forth under Sherlock's nose.

 

He awoke with a start, trying to sit up with his muscles tensing as if he was preparing to leap up. Then came speech, and he rambled in disconnected sentences. Jack shushed him, pushing him back down.

 

"Where 'am I?"

"And 'who're you?"

 

"You're in the lab, Sherlock. And I'm Captain Jack."

 

Sherlock sighed, rubbing his face with his hands before he froze.

 

"Jahhn..."

 

The name was slurred as Sherlock yawned mid-syllable.

 

"He'll be fine- I'll make sure of that."

 

Sherlock sat up again, grasping Jack's shoulder tightly in his hands.

 

"Promise."

 

"I promise."

 

Jack got a thin, grim smile before Sherlock fell back, asleep again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock looks gaunt, tall, as if he had grown a foot overnight. His clothes don’t seem to fit him as he sat on the cot in the laboratory, a glass of untouched water on his knee.

 

Jack waited patiently as the detective looked him over, making deductions.

 

“You’re a traveler.”

 

Jack nodded.

 

“You’re- that’s American.”

 

Jack nodded again, smiling.

 

“You have shadows under yours eyes. You are older than you appear.”

 

Jack faltered. “Wha-”

 

“You have shadows and a wrinkle-” Jack felt his fingers tracing around his eyes. He did indeed have a fissure of wrinkles.

“So who are you, Captain Jack?”

 

“I’ll tell you if you actually drink that. According to Molly, you haven’t even eaten anything for nearly two days.”

 

Sherlock scowled, tipping back the cup and sipping from it. When he drained the last drop, he looked at Jack with,’okay, tell me. I did what I had to do’ look on his face.

 

“I’m a time traveler, Sherlock. I was once brought back to life by a friend I..I used to travel with.....and now I can’t die. If you want, I could take you forward to when you can return to Jo-”

 

“NO!”

 

“Sherlock, three years. You’ll have to hide for three years. Your city and John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson... they’ll unravel. Do you want to sit and wait, stand in the shadows to watch that happen?”

 

“I..I can do that Jack I must wait with them.”

 

“Sherlock, you can’t without yourself breaking too..”

 

“No, I- if you are even telling the truth- I must wait. I can’t cheat this. But please, have someone look after John. Please.”

  
“I will Sherlock.”


End file.
